Stretch
by Soulreciever
Summary: It had started, what seemed like a lifetime ago, with the forceful necessity of a phone call. Slash. vauge GS4 spoilers. Vauge AU. Angst
1. Parting

Stretch.

1.Parting.

T: First fandom fic but by no stretch of the imagination the first ever fic so constructive criticism welcome. GS4 characters and general set up will be mentioned but, as I started this thing having not played a single moment of the game, spoilers should be kept to a minimum! Vague AU, Slash, giant piles of angst, OOC, the twisting of characters for my own end and other such lovely things! Ace Attorney/ Gyakuten Saiban is not mine.

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It had started, what seemed like a lifetime ago, with the forceful necessity of a phone call.

The other had laughed a little for the 'out of character' behaviour, rambled aimlessly about seemingly meaningless things and eventually agreed to forward the documents that'd begun the whole debacle in the first place. They'd arrived two days later in a thickly padded priority mail parcel and he'd been questioning the necessity of such and expenditure on the other's meagre budget when he'd caught sight of the envelope pressed at the very base of the thing.

Mumbling reprimands about foolish defence attorneys he'd read the thing and, out of some misplaced sense of obligation, he'd written the other the briefest of replies. Somehow the matter had spiralled from there and, in the space of a month; the exchanging of such letters had become a weekly habit.

He'd allowed himself to believe that it was the other's charisma that'd kept the thing going, that denying the other the chance to spread his unique brand of 'good cheer' would be as denying the sun the chance to shine on the world. The sudden, fractured, phone call from Maya at 2.00 am on random Sunday, as well as the 'visit' that'd come out of that call, had brought him to see that that was not, in fact, the case. Had brought him too see a truth that he'd been denying for what'd seemed like the entirety of his existence.

He can not recall why he'd been awake at such a foolishly early hour or quite what he'd been doing in the brief instant before the phone had rung. He can, however, recall the odd note of stress that'd been in Maya's voice as she'd apologised for the timing of the call and as she'd explained that she'd only remembered about the time difference the moment that she'd heard the fatigue in his voice. He recalls also that she'd garbled a little before getting to the point of the call, that the nervousness that'd entered her voice at that moment had placed an odd discomfort in his stomach that'd only dislodged itself after she'd given over the 'entirety' of her tail and made her heartfelt plea.

He'd agreed to the request with the greatest of reserve and it'd only been when he'd seen the other, when he'd seen how well founded Maya's concern had been, that he'd understood that he had not, in fact, made a mistake.

The visit had been an intriguing, relaxing, affair, the intimacy that they'd built up with the letters allowing them to be more 'causal' with one another than they had the last that they'd been 'face to face'.

On the very last day of the visit they'd sat out on the lawn together and created patterns in the stars, a childish activity that'd brought with it a wash of sensations and memories that he'd believed lost years previous.

"Thanks for putting me up like this, Miles." The other had remarked, his voice tinged in a sheepish embarrassment that he'd explained a moment later by remarking, "The truth is that I had to be pushed into doing this…I felt stupid letting something so simple get to me like that, you see…unsurprisingly Maya, once again, knows best."

"So what is this 'simple thing', Phoenix?"

"Things between Iris and I have 'come to a natural conclusion'" The words had been simple enough and the other had uttered them in a casual sort of a manner and yet his heart had leapt a little at the sound of them.

The other had laughed off the sudden tense silence that'd followed the confession and had begun to wax lyrical about the probability of there being intelligent life in space. He, in turn, had sat motionless at the other's side, his heart beating hard in his chest and his mind filled with the hot certainty that he was in love with his best friend, that he had been as such for a long, long, time.

In the empty, silent, week after the other had returned to L.A. he'd thought things through logically, had played out each and every situation in his head and had made the choice to keep this new revelation to himself.

It was a decision that'd proved easy enough while their only points of contact were the weekly letters and the occasional phone call, but once the other had started to make impromptu visits, either on his own or with his 'entourage', things had become a little more complex. It had little helped that the other's manner had become more and more causal, or that the solitary visits grew longer and closer together.

Eventually everything had culminated in a 'flying visit' that, even years after its conclusion, he was still unable to forget.

It'd been half a year since the first letter had fallen through his mail box and, wishing to celebrate this 'anniversary' the other had treated him to a decent meal in a decent restaurant and then purchased a bottle of stupidly expensive rose for them to enjoy as they strolled down the banks of the Seine.

"Here's to an amazing half a year!" The other had remarked as he'd taken a swig from the bottle and then passed it into his care.

"Here's to many more like it." He'd responded as he'd drained the thing of the last of its contents and then tossed it into a nearby trash can.

The other had smiled an odd smile and gesturing for them to pause a moment, he'd enquired,

"You're not just saying that, are you Miles?"

"Why would you ask something like that?"

"Because I can't help feeling like I've pushed things a little…can't help feeling that you were happier when we kept a minimum amount of contact." There'd been an irresistible note of regret in the other's voice and, closing a little of the distance between them, he'd said,

"That could not be further from the truth."

The moment had drawn out for an infinite space of time, then the other had smiled a beautiful smile and, oh so slowly, he'd begun to bend down towards him.

The shrill, digital, replica of the Steel Samurai theme tune had cut between them but an instant before they'd connected and, skin flushing, the other had gained again the distance between them.

After a flurried few moments he'd placed the phone back into his pocket and remarked,

"I have to go home."

A week later a hastily written letter from the other had explained that an important case had come up and that he was going to be tied up for a little while. The other had apologised, profusely, for the haste of his exit and, at the very end of the thing, had promised, 'we can talk it through when we see one another next'.

That'd been the last that he'd had any form of communication from the other …the last that he'd considered his world 'sane.

For the first month of silence he'd blamed the forward nature of his actions, had written letter after letter begging for an apology and asking for the chance for things to be as they once had. Then a rumoured whisper that 'Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney, had been 'forced' into an early retirement,' had reached his ear and he'd understood everything.

From that instant onwards he'd dedicated himself to the task of helping the other, had retrained as a defence attorney in order that he might be allowed to learn everything he could of the case that'd 'broke' the great Phoenix Wright.

Once he'd felt confident in his ability to achieve his goal he'd sold his house, his law firm and moved himself back to L.A.

Subtle probing had led him to a back alley bar where, according to his sources, he was most likely to find the other.

With hindsight it might have been sensible to have rested a little before making the trip, or to have paused for bite to eat. As it was he'd not managed the hot, clawing, atmosphere of the place for more than an hour before the combination of jet lag and hunger had 'gotten the better' of him and he'd fainted.

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T: Expect the next update next week at some random point, until then how about a review??


	2. Meeting

2. Meeting.

T: Warnings remain the same as do disclaimers.

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Papa had not come home for a week now and she'd decided to go and reprimand him at work, hopeful that the dose of public humiliation would hammer her message of 'you need to look after yourself as well, you know,' into his head with enough force that he might actually take notice of it.

A quick chat with the barman had informed her that papa had 'vanished off of the face of the earth' and she'd just turned to leave when one of the patrons had begun to topple out of their chair. In the blink of an eye she'd crossed the space between herself and the other and had managed to stop their descent before they hit the floor.

She is given a brief instant to register fine, aristocratic, bone structure, hair of such a light shade of brown that it looks almost grey and a beautifully crafted suit in a pale maroon hue which give the other a further edge of the unique. Then the bartender is nudging her gently to one side, mumbled thanks on his lips and concern in his eyes. She knows the bear of a man well enough to understand that such emotion is more out of concern for his business than the customer and thus, though it is a foolish thing to do, she enquires,

"Shall I take him off of your hands?"

The bartender fixes her in a forceful sort of gaze and, for a moment, she believes that he will respond to the negative, that a sudden sense of mortality will mean that he will not allow the customer to leave with anyone other than a trained paramedic. Then the bartender gains his feet and, 'draping' the customer over one shoulder, says,

"Go and call a taxi then."

Ten minutes, one difficult taxi ride, two flights of stairs and a doorway later she'd managed to get the other safely onto the lumpy couch that dominates the flat's living room.

She places a damp flannel to the other's forehead, fixes a pitcher of ice-cold water and then perches herself on the arm of the sofa. Approximately three minutes later he guest begins to stir and, wordlessly, she pours a little of the water into a tumbler and passes it into his care. He takes a few, tentative, sips and then enquires,

"Where am I?"

"My flat. I know that moving you around wasn't really sensible thinking and that you should've gone to hospital the very moment you fainted, but, given the circumstances, this was the lesser of two evils."

"I'm certain that was, indeed, the case." He responds, the smile that lingers now in the corners of his mouth relieving her of the last of her concern as far as this matter went.

"You keep a very tidy home." The words contain the subtlest of presses and, smiling a little for the odd familiarity of the situation, she informs him,

"You don't need to tiptoe about me; if there's something you want to ask then go ahead and ask."

"How did…"

"I know? Papa used to be a lawyer and he taught me a few 'tricks of the trade'"

"Does he live here with you?"

"There's a room all set out for him and I know he considers this flat 'home'…"

"However?"

"He thinks that he's a burden and so he tries to keep away, something that's more than a little frustrating and yet papa wouldn't be papa if he wasn't as stubborn as a mule." Her patient breaks into a pleasant laughter that makes him look younger than he had and adds a little to his 'beauty'.

"My sister can be the same way." He responds once he has again 'control' of himself.

"She's elsewhere, right?"

"Germany."

"But that's not where you've come from."

"No, I flew in from Paris this morning." He responds before enquiring, "Are you deducing these things from my attire, my body language or the intonation of my words?"

"It's a little of each."

"Did your father work as a defence attorney or as a prosecutor?" He enquires, before informing her, "I practiced in this country for many years before I moved abroad and it's possible that we met."

"He was a defence attorney, but you wouldn't know him by looking at me…he's not my real father, you see."

Her patient tenses as she makes this confession and, an odd note in his voice, he enquires,

"Your father is the one time Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright, isn't he?"

A glass of ice-cold water is pressed into his fingers almost the very instant that he 'wakes' and, as he empties the thing of its contents, he takes the chance to 'gain his bearings'.

ooooooooooo

He is laid out on a lumpy, well loved, couch that all but dominates the tiny living room in which it is situated. The condition of the air, as well as the noise from outside, tell him that he has moved a little from his previous local and, curious, he enquires,

"Where am I?"

His hostess swiftly informs him that this is her flat and then, without prompt, goes on to explain the logic behind his journey. It is an excess that speaks of a strong upbringing and, a smile lingering on his lips, he gives her a verbal assurance that he does not view her actions in a negative light. Her body visibly relaxes and, wishing to pursue his curiosity a little further without making her feel uncomfortable once more, he makes a polite observation on the general state of her living conditions.

A cheeky smile catching at her lips she leans a little towards him and remarks,

"You don't need to tiptoe about me; if there's something you want to ask then go ahead and ask."

"How did…"

"I know? Papa used to be a lawyer and he taught me a few 'tricks of the trade'"

The casual mention of her father allows him to more openly question her on the matter of her living arrangements and to open what seems to be a veritable can of worms. The situation, as well as her father's personality type, is one that he recognises well and, after laughing a little for the pleasant recollection, he informs her, "My sister can be the same way," a casual remark that leads to another show of the deductive skills that his hostess has learned from her father.

He enquires after the other's identity and she has only to inform him that they are not truly blood kin for all the random pieces of information to form into a one certain fact.

"Your father is the one time Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright, isn't he?"

"You got it in one!" She responds before enquiring, "Does that mean that you worked with him or were you simply making an educated guess?"

Out of all the possible ways in which he might have filtered his way back into Phoenix's life this particular scenario had never once occurred to him. However, understanding well that predictability was a rare thing whenever Phoenix was involved, he sets his glass onto the carpet and, remarks, "I believe this is an appropriate place for an introduction," before offering her his hand and saying, "My name is Miles Edgeworth, onetime 'daemon prosecutor' and current 'rookie' attorney."

"Trucy Wright, magician in training," She remarks as she gives him a 'highly enthused' handshake, "and I'm afraid that you've got a fight on your hands."

"A 'fight'?"

"You're here to 'help' papa, right?" The manner in which she phrases the question makes it clear how she feels about such help and yet he gives a positive response to the enquiry without shame or guilt.

"Keep a hold of that confidence, Mr Edgeworth, you'll need it in the upcoming weeks," she remarks before enquiring, "can I tempt you to a slice of cake and a cup of tea?"

"That sounds ideal."

ooooo

He and the younger Wright had fallen into an easy conversation after that, the thing beginning with a casual debate on the week points of the current American Legal system and that had ended, at some point after midnight, with a existential discussion on the meaning of life.

Trucy had retired to bed only a little after that, the last coherent words from her lips a forceful insistence that he be there when she set foot back out of her bedroom. Given the level of sincerity that had been in that request he's felt both angry and confused when, at some point in the afternoon, he'd woken to the words,

"You shouldn't be there, Miles."

Once he is up into a sitting position, it becomes clear that Trucy is not in the room and that she cannot, therefore, be addressing him. Curious, he stumbles to his feet, and goes in search of his hostess.

He finds her crouch in the threshold of what, judging by the general state of the place, can only be Phoenix's room, a displeased frown clean on her forehead.

"What seems to be the trouble, Miss Wright?"

"A certain spoiled tabby has decided to camp out on daddy's bed despite the fact that he knows it's not allowed." She remarks as she gestures towards the creature in question.

"Might I ask why you haven't simply snatched him back out of the room."

"Papa doesn't like me going into his room…also it seems rather unfair for me to tell Miles off when Papa doesn't follow suit."

"About the animal's name."

"It was papa's choice."

"I see." He remarks before slumping, rather inelegantly, to the floor.

Not a beet later his lap is being overtaken by a fluffy, purring, mass and, smile clear on her lips, Trucy remarks,

"It'll all work out somehow, Mr Edgeworth, just you wait and see!"

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T: Next chapter will be up at some random point next week. Review??


	3. Talking

3. Talking.

T: warnings and disclaimers remain the same.

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"You could always have the spare room in my flat."

Glancing up from the mass of accommodation advertisements, he is met with the sinister smile of on Trucy Wright and, setting his pen to one side, he enquires,

"Can that little bolthole really be classed as a room?"

"It's bigger than it looks!"

"Even if that is the case I'm not all too sure that living under your roof is a sensible idea, Trucy."

Letting out a little breath of frustration his companion clambers into the seat opposite and says,

"You know as well as I do that you'll take forever to get exactly the right house and that you're better off paying me a little rent rather than shelling out on extortionate hotel bills."

"You are still missing the point."

"Papa is more 'out' than 'in' at the moment and you're going to have to talk to him eventually anyway." He recognises that particular tone of voice very, very well and, running a hand through his hair, he enquires,

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Nope."

"When would you like me to move in?"

"How about right now?"

"I'll go and get my things."

ooooo

He has only been back in LA for two weeks and already everything seemed to have 'clicked into place'.

Despite the slightly 'cosy' nature of his bedroom, and his namesake's current habit of falling asleep on his face, he had begun to consider the flat home, something he attributed both to Trucy's good company and to the general aura of good will that lingered about the house.

He had found a position in a reputable law firm and had already managed to secure on comfortable 'not guilty' verdict.

Faces that he had not seen since the tragic conclusion of the Misty Fey case had begun to appear 'out of the woodwork' and 'forced' him to attend various social functions.

Indeed things had become so settled that he felt almost relived when, upon returning back to the flat one evening, he'd 'discovered' Phoenix asleep on the couch.

The other has changed dramatically since the last they had seen one another, his one immaculate appearance having dropped into 'hobo' levels and his form having lost both weight and muscle definition. Both are things that Trucy words over the past few weeks have prepared him for and thus he reacts to this 'unexpected' meeting with gentle acceptance, rather than shock or pity.

Setting his briefcase down in the doorway he smoothes out his clothes and then settles down onto the small area of couch not occupied by Phoenix. It takes the other but two minutes to register his presence and to wake enough to both open his eyes and enquire,

"Are you real?"

"I'm afraid so." The sharp edge of the reply removes the last of the fuzziness from the other eyes and, carefully pulling himself into a sitting position, he enquires,

"How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks." That reply catches something in the other's mind for, but and instant later, he enquires,

"You're Trucy's new tenant?"

"That's correct."

There is a long moment of silence and then Phoenix enquires,

"What brings you here then?"

"You should already know the answer to that question."

"So you _were_ being sincere in that last letter." His face sobers as he speaks those words and, gaze drifting away, he says, "Once they stopped I thought that you'd seen sense…that you'd realised that I wasn't worth it."

Listening to Trucy talk of 'her' father over the past few weeks has also prepared him for the severity of the other's self doubt and, holding hard to his confidence, he enquires,

"Why would I believe such a foolish thing?"

It is a bravery that the other 'rewards' with a gentle smile and the enquiry of,

"So how's life on the other side of the courtroom treating you?"

ooooo

Papa has been home more frequently recently, something he claims is because he 'feels guilty' for all but abandoning her for the last few months. She is certain that this is, in part, the truth and yet she is also certain that there is another reason behind his actions, that he hates himself for this fact and is thus trying to 'forget' that this hidden reason even existed.

She is normally one to 'let nature take its own course' and yet it is clear that, in this situation at least, a gentle push is required.

Thus she has secured Papa to help her with her homework and planted a small trick that will insure that Mr Edgeworth is given the afternoon off.

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?" There is a note of exasperated acceptance in her father's voice and, smiling an embarrassed smile, she responds,

"I'm afraid my mind began to wonder a little."

"Perhaps we should leave this to another day then."

She is attempting to find a plausible reason to keep at something that she clearly has no interest in when the door opens and Mr Edgeworth steps into the flat.

"You're not normally home this early." Papa remarks as closes his pen lid and tosses the thing on top of her homework."

"We were sent home early for 'undisclosed reasons'." Mr Edgeworth remarks, a displeased expression clear on his face.

"You know most people would be a little excited at the prospect of an impromptu afternoon off."

"Apparently 'most people' hate their jobs."

"Ah ha, so you _do_ like your new job!" The note of playful smugness contained in Papa's voice as he says those words is something that she has not heard in a long while and thus she smiles a little for the sound of it.

"How do you feel about ice cream, Mr Edgeworth?" She enquires once she feels that the silence has drawn on long enough.

"I've only ever tried it the once and I'm afraid I do not recall the 'experience'."

"Then we need to remedy that right now," she remarks before enquiring, "Papa and I know this little place in Harajuka that sells the world's best ice cream, isn't that right Papa?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it the 'world's best', but it's certainly amazing ice cream."

"If you give me a moment to change into something a little more 'casual' then I will gladly test this theory for myself." Mr Edgeworth responds as he begins walking towards his bedroom.

It is a little too early to be 'counting her chickens', however, if things carried on in this manner, she was certain that her plan would yield the results she most desired.

oooooo

After Ice cream Trucy had dragged them both to a tiny, back alley, variety show and from there they'd been taken to visit a travelling fairground.

Stood in the middle of booths decked in gaudy lights, grease stained caravans with overly expensive price lists hanging at the back and noisy, ever moving, rides, he finds that his 'cased have vanished like a rabbit from a hat. It is an 'oddity' that has a very simple truth at its heart, a truth that he has known for many, many, years now and that he'd been pushing to one side recently because of the 'inconveniences' it created.

Watching the individual at the heart of this 'truth' and being able to see how much he has developed during the years, he knows that he can no longer avoid this discussion…that it was long since past time for the 'exposure' of this particular truth.

"I'm going to go 'play' on the stalls for a while!" The younger Wright remarks as she releases the hold she had had on her father's arm.

"Ok, but remember…"

"'They have a living to make just like everyone else', don't worry, Papa, I'll be nice!" She remarks as she skips odd in the direction of the ring toss.

"She thinks that it's fun to find the 'fix' that's been placed on each booth and then to 'beat' them."

"I suppose it's no different than finding objections in witness's statements and then smugly throwing them back in the prosecutions face."

"You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

Phoenix begins to laugh then, the bright, easy, sound, one that he'd feared that he would never hear again.

"I've really got' a thank Trucy for setting this up later," the other remarks after a moment.

"So she was behind this, after all."

"I thought she wouldn't fool you."

"I've learned to be suspicious of co-incidences over the years."

"You can make her help you with the paperwork that you've gotten behind on because of today."

"Isn't thanking her and then punishing her for the same action going to send a rather mixed message?"

"Probably…to be honest I kind of suck at the 'discipline' thing..."

"Yet still your daughter has grown into something that you can be proud of."

"Looking after on little girl is much like looking another and Trucy's a real bright spark, which means it's been 'fun' as well as challenging."

"How are the Fey's?"

"Maya got married last year to this perky young defence attorney who she met while 'assisting' me. Pearl's just started attending a local boarding school and she visits often in order to keep Trucy up on the 'gossip', as well to 'keep an eye' on me." His smile has again become a tense thing and he is just thinking of a suitable way to 'turn things around', when Phoenix enquires, "I'm spoiling the mood a little, aren't I?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Hey, you're meant to give me a negative response that then flatter my ego a little!"

"Your ego is more than large enough as it is."

Phoenix responds by childishly poking out his tongue and, after giving into the urge to laugh, he remarks,

"There's something I need to tell you."

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T: Next chapter at some point next week. Review??


	4. Touching

3. Touching.

T: This is the last chapter, though I do fancy writing a sequel that includes a few more GS4 characters so keep your eyes peeled! Warnings and disclaimers remain the same.

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"So you've finally decided to show your face, have you?" The expression on his daughter's face is one he knows well and, twiddling with the edge of his beanie, he responds by saying,

"I'm sorry I worried you, Trucy…I'm afraid I somewhat lost track of time."

"It's certainly not your most creative excuse." She responds before adding, "But I forgive you none the less."

"There's something you're not telling me."

"Maybe…"

"Trucy, what have you been told about teasing daddy?"

"I'm sorry." She responds as she settles onto the sofa and makes a clear gesture for him to follow suit.

Once he has settled comfortably into the cushions and Trucy has pressed herself a little into his side, he enquires,

"So what's happened while I've been away?"

"This man fainted at the bar and I brought him back here and we got talking and became friends and I eventually decided that he should come live in the spare room." The response comes in a garbled stream that can only mean that she is terribly excited about the whole thing and, smiling, he enquires,

"Can that little bolthole really be classed as a room?"

She begins giggling in response to the question, something she explains when, after regaining her 'composure', she says,

"He asked that exact question when I made the suggestion."

Wry smile tugging at his lips, he responds,

"He sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders."

"Unlike you,"

"Ooh, you're going to pay for that!" He remarks as he begins to tickle her mercilessly.

Once he feels that his daughter has been 'punished' enough, he enquires,

"So what kind of person is this new lodger?"

"The right kind," she responds, before informing him, "You'll have to learn the rest from him, I'm afraid."

She gives him a brief moment to absorb that response and then begins detailing her newest set of magical tricks.

oooooo

He'd been playing with Miles when a nap urge had begun to develop and, though he felt a little guilty for 'abandoning' his furry playmate, he'd curled into the couch and proceeded to give into the thing.

He wakes to the disconcerting feeling of being watched and, upon spying the source of this sensation, he enquires,

"Are you real?"

"I'm afraid so." The response is sharp and so very like the other that he is assured that he is telling the truth, that he is not, in fact, still caught up in a dream.

It takes the briefest of instants to learn that his companion and Trucy's lodger are one in the same, something he takes a moment to consider before asking about the other motivation for 'returning'.

He had, of course, known the answer to that question, for it had been there in the other's final letter…yet still he had asked, perhaps because he had begun to believe the words in the letter little more than elegant fiction or perhaps because he had wished the other to confirm their validity. Whatever his reasoning his companion gives the expected response and he, in turn, had given over a truth that, though so very pathetic, he'd wished the other to hear. The other fixes him with confident eyes and dismisses this truth in a swift, yet understanding manner. This show of strength takes a great deal of courage on the other's part and, as some form of 'reward' for this confidence, he makes the choice to move the conversation towards a more comfortable topic.

They talk for what seems like hours after that, learning as much as they can of the 'progression' of their lives without ever making a direct enquiry on the subject.

Ghostly recollections of hazy summers swim through his mind as the easy conversation continues and eventually he forces himself to break away from both the conversation and the other's presence….places a 'safe distance' between himself and those bitter sweet memories.

ooooo

He has made a deliberate attempt to get back to the flat at least once a week since had learned the identity of Trucy's lodger. He wishes that such effort was motivated simply by the desire to spend time with his daughter and yet he knows that there is another motivation for his actions…knows and hates himself for that fact. His daughter has, of course, noted this bout of self hatred and has done an amazing job of 'distracting' him with various tasks. Today, for example, she has asked him to help her work her way through her summer homework, an endeavour that has proven 'entertaining' if nothing else.

For the last few minuets he has been under the distinct impression that he is talking to himself and, feeling just a little frustrated, he enquires,

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"I'm afraid my mind began to wonder a little."

"Perhaps we should leave this to another day then." He responds.

There is a brief instant of silence and then Miles strolls thorough the door, something that surprises him a little and that leads, indirectly, to the other being invited out to ice-cream with himself and his daughter.

Once Trucy has eaten her fill of frozen treats, she cons them into stopping in on a nearby variety show and then all but begs for the chance to visit the nearby fairground. Aware that such places are not Miles's 'usual scene' he keeps a subtle eye on the other and is pleasantly surprised to discover that, as the evening progresses, his friend is not only beginning to enjoy himself but also beginning to act in a more relaxed, open, manner. He had forgotten what it was like to be around this particular side of Miles, had forgotten how addictively 'intoxicating' he found the other's rather warped sense of humor and warm, playful, smile.

He becomes so very lost in that intoxication that things cross into 'painful' territory without him quite realizing and, his instinctive self defense mechanism clicking in, he places a distance between them and becomes again 'cold'. Miles reacts in the expected manner to this change in character, his own face 'freezing' and his posture tightening enough that the atmosphere becomes again 'tense' between them. Smiling a sarcastic smile, he enquires,

"I'm spoiling the mood, aren't I?" His fingers acting out his particular nervous gesture as he does as such.

"Maybe just a little," though uttered in complete deadpan something in the words catches at him and he responds with a foolish comment that Miles again knocks to once side. He 'accepts' this 'defeat' by sticking out his tongue and Miles begins to laugh.

The levity remains in his eyes for a long moment after that and then, breaking eye contact, he says, "There is something I need to tell you," the tone of his voice making it clear that he will not be turned away from this particular task.

One hand rising to loop, almost causally, about the top of the opposing arm, Miles takes a shaking breath and then says,

"I love you."

Of all the words that the other could have chosen to say these had been the least expected and the most desired. He knows that there are many issues that have still to be aired between them, that there is so much unknown contained in any future they might have together, and yet…

Ever since that wonderful instant on the bank of the Seine he has dreamt of an opportunity such as this and time has taught him to little care about the future, to worry only about making every second of the present count.

Thus, smiling, he steps towards the other, informs him, "I love you also," before he catches him into the gentlest of kisses.

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T: Review?


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